


Draco Malfoy and the Magic Holodeck

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror-trainee Harry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry isn't all that swift on the uptake, Honestly neither is Draco, M/M, Magically!Brilliant!Draco, Post-War, They are super randy though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: Draco goes back to school for a last year, and lo and behold, he learns somevery interesting conceptsin the Muggle Studies Class he is forced to take. After he finishes school he takes his new ideas and… let’s say he has a lot more success than he’d ever dreamed possible.





	1. Exercise your Minister

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HansonPhreek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansonPhreek/gifts).



> This fic could be construed as having issues with consent, but not in anything approaching an ordinary manner. No one gets forced, ever, but Draco does not always know exactly who he is enthusiastically agreeing to have sex with, even though he always thinks he does. 
> 
> Overbearing mother (for once, not really “for the win.”) Terrible communication skills on both Draco and Harry’s parts. Extraordinary and unusual magical skill on Draco’s part. Hopefully believable! He works and studies very hard!
> 
>  **Betaed by:** JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle  
>  **Britpicked by** Christmas Socks
> 
>  **Author's Note:** HansonPhreek, you said a few things in your signup that caught my attention, particularly that “H/D is my first love ...” but also that you have recently rediscovered a love of threesomes. I tried to put a threesome in here, and sort of succeeded, lol! I hope this counts. ;)  
>  I also took one of your prompts and ran with it a bit. “Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry is working as an Auror but is in need of a career change and Draco has been living off his family money but his parents want him to go out and get a job. The two team up to try out different jobs before discovering some unexpected hidden talents.”  
> I think, once you have finished reading, that you will see that while I started there, I didn’t exactly end up there! I very much hope that you enjoy what I came up with. I had fun writing it, when I wasn’t tearing my hair out! ;)

“Do you really think so, Headmistress?”

McGonagall strode purposefully across the Hogwarts lawn, the Scottish summer sun shining on her smart robes. “Please, Mr Minister, you really must call me Minerva. And yes, I must insist upon your help with this.”

Kingsley clasped his hands together behind his back, working to keep up with the headmistress, who walked even faster than the average Londoner in the rain.

“This change is critical,” McGonagall continued breezily, as though she took a few minutes to speed around the Hogwarts perimeter every day. “Just because the Muggles must never know we exist does not give us any excuse to continue to know nothing about how _they_ exist. The students all need some grounding in Muggle Studies, Mr Minister. Andromeda Tonks has convinced me.”

“Call me Kingsley, please,” he said, working to not pant with exertion. He really wasn’t getting enough exercise anymore. “And I had thought it was Molly and Arthur Weasley who were pushing this change?” 

Kingsley found it embarrassingly difficult to say no to Andromeda Tonks. He wasn’t sure if she planned to hold to the timing of an old-fashioned, pure-blood mourning period or not, but he really needed to be the first eligible bachelor who found out.

“They are standing behind Mrs Tonks. It was her idea, and she has convinced me.”

“All right,” Kingsley rumbled low, trying to sound encouraging, now he knew this was Andromeda’s idea; “why don’t you tell me a bit about how you want to change Hogwarts’ curriculum, and what you need from me?”

“The Board of Governors will be unlikely to accept this proposal without your support, but the change is actually quite simple and inexpensive. We already have Muggle Studies in the curriculum. I simply want to make at least two years of it mandatory for any student who cannot pass a written exam Andromeda has put together with a witch friend of hers. An educator in the Muggle world.”

Still struggling to keep up with Minerva’s swift steps, Kingsley quickly thought this over. “Sounds like a fairly small change, _if_ you can engage a qualified Muggle Studies professor on such short notice. Is Mrs Tonks’ friend at all interested?” Kingsley sternly told his heart to stop fluttering. Employing someone’s friend wasn’t enough to jumpstart a romance. Andromeda was a recent widow, for Merlin’s sake.

“Sadly, I do not believe so. Andromeda tried to recruit her for me, but I can’t come close to matching her current salary.”

“The exchange rate is against you,” Kingsley said, knitting his brows.

“Indeed,” McGonagall frowned. “Nor does this witch want to uproot her life and move to Hogwarts.”

“I see the value of Andromeda’s idea,” Kingsley intoned deeply. He was already becoming accustomed to the way his deep voice loaned Ministerial Gravity to his words. He really liked it. “But if the Board approves this at the next meeting, you will have only a few weeks to finalize your hire. You’ll need to start looking immediately, but you can’t promise anything until you know for certain the position has been approved. You’ll want someone qualified, experienced. Especially since this new teacher will have a rather full timetable, I believe? My recollection was Charity Burbage, may she rest in peace, did not work full time.”

“Correct. Charity never taught a full load. I believe at her busiest she had only four sections, unlike permanent Hogwarts staff, who of course teach fourteen. But we only expect to have need of eight sections of Muggle Studies. First year and second year, each house separated out, so as to reduce tensions. The important thing for the Board to understand is we already have curricula, textbooks, a classroom, an office… all the necessary expensive infrastructure.”

“All you lack is a teacher.”

“And a mandate,” McGonagall reminded.

“Yes,” Kingsley agreed, finally able to slow his steps as they approached the Black Lake. “But I think I can help you, there.”


	2. Muggles have the occasional great idea

> Dear Pansy,
> 
> I can still hardly believe you fucking abandoned me. For Beauxbatons, no less. I know you tried to serve the Saviour up on a platter in the Great Hall, darling, but we both knew there was no way Perfect Potter would be here this year to rub it in your face. 
> 
> Can you believe they are forcing me to do Muggle Studies, of all things? I think that is the very worst thing about this year. In order afterwards:  
>  You are not here, you great cow.  
>  Theo bleeding Nott _is_ here, in all his whining, terrified glory.  
>  Know-it-all Granger is here even though her self-righteous sidekicks have buggered off for the glories of the Auror Programme, or free blowjobs in Diagon from all the adoring masses, or whatever it is they are doing while I languish here in the rural Scottish wilderness without my best friend.
> 
> Also, I believe I have mentioned I am really not yet accustomed to this bloody French wand I was forced to get. My DADA marks were completely doomed anyway, but this is just more than anyone should be forced to endure.
> 
> Not to mention, everyone in the school knows I’m here not only under sufferance, and on probation, _but also_ because the great and beneficent Harry Potter spoke for me at trial. It is fucking humiliating. Why have you abandoned me to this hell? Why did my mother not let me accompany you?
> 
> Draco

xXx

> Dear Pansy,  
>  Perhaps this year will not be quite as hideous as I previously thought. Thank Merlin you somehow find time to write so often. It helps so, so much. I should not tell you this, you horrid, abandoning, vanishing act of a faithless friend, but your letters are funnier than I had anticipated. You can usually make me laugh in person, but I had not expected your skills to transfer to parchment.
> 
> I can also admit Granger generally just nods sternly at me on occasion. Otherwise we are able to ignore each other. Theo is so terrified of failing his NEWTs that I almost never see him. When I do, it is the top of his head, the rest of him being buried in a book. And you are not going to believe this, but Muggle Studies is – to my utter shock – fucking brilliant.
> 
> Since – according to school gossip – Headmistress McGonagall was surprised last minute with the need to employ a Muggle Studies Professor, she ended up choosing someone who – again, according to the general bavardage – was not already gainfully employed. As a teacher, or as anything else. It did not take long for those of us forced into his class to realize why. 
> 
> “Professor” David Hennage is only a few years older than you and I. He is the oldest child of a Muggle and a squib, and other than attending Hogwarts, he has apparently lived his whole life in the Muggle world. He never wears robes (not even to teach!) and he – beyond all reason or restraint – loves ( _loves_ ) this Muggle entertainment device called The Telly. His favourite Telly programme is called Star Trek: The Next Generation. I know. It did not make any bloody sense to me, either. And, get this: Hennage’s main accomplishment of the school year so far is getting a Telly to work in his classroom. 
> 
> He has the entire Next Generation series on this stuff he calls “video tape.” It is these ugly fattish rectangles made out of this weird black stuff he says is called “plastic.” And they have stories on them, acted out by actors wearing (mostly skin tight!) costumes. It is so fucking weird. Anyway, apparently this “programme” thing was on Telly once a week for seven years. He is trying to play the entire series for us. In class, Pans. Then we write a little bit about the show, and voila, I suppose that is how we learn all about the Muggle world. This class is a going to be a fly through the park. Piece of piss.
> 
> Love and chocolate,  
>  Draco

xXx

> Dear Pansy,
> 
> It has only been three months, but Professor Hennage of Muggle Studies has stopped doing anything really apart from showing us these episodes of Star Trek. This despite his several halting explanations in October that the programme – get this! – _does not actually picture modern Muggle life at all_. 
> 
> Clearly, no one in the class has admitted any of this to McGonagall. There is no way she would stand for this. But I’m hardly going to tell her! Because I truly do not care. The telly thing is entertaining and the class is so much easier than any one of us could have imagined. Now that he has the electronics working, the only classwork Hennage ever gives us is to write a few inches linking the episode we saw in class to the points about the Muggle world he wrote on the board before we arrived. I actually look forward to new episodes, and I can admit to being very glad to have the class in my timetable all five days of the week. I mean, it is not like I am taking a NEWT in the subject!
> 
> Cannot wait to see you over the winter hols, you utter slag,  
>  D

xXx

“You cannot tell anyone, Pansy. Not anyone. I am serious.”

“Is that why you dragged me out here in the snow?” She kicked at a drift and got powdery snow all over the hem of Draco’s warmest winter cloak. “We can’t even _see_ the Manor from here, Draco.”

Draco put his hands on his hips and looked her right in the eye. “Yes, that is why, and I notice you have not promised me yet, Pansy.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and he nearly laughed in her face. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous it looks when you roll your eyes under that big pink hat?”

“Do you have any idea how little I care?” she retorted. She turned away just enough to squint into the sunlight over the thicket of trees Draco had loved since the first time he had been allowed to wander his ancestral lands with only a house-elf for company.

“Fine,” she finally begrudged him. “Tell me your bloody secret then. I promise not to tell a single soul, living or dead, portrait or ghost, or more mark my magic. There, Draco, is that sufficiently juvenile for you?”

“It will do,” Draco sniffed. Then he grinned hugely at her, in excitement and relief. “I have had the most amazing idea, Pansy. And I got it from Star Trek!”

By the time Pansy actually thought she sort of understood the plot of the telly programme, and the concept of a Holodeck, dinner was over and Pansy’s mother had Flooed home. He was pretty sure his parents didn’t even realize he’d smuggled Pans up to his bedroom instead of sending her home right after her Mum. 

“I need a holodeck of my own, Pansy. I really think I can do it, too. With Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Potions and Charms. No decent man is even going to want to go out with me. That is going to be true for… well, who knows how long. This will be my solution.”

“Draco,” she said, and hesitated. He faked a cocky look at her, and she squeezed his hand in response. “I get the motivation, I really do. It’s just...” She tried to smile at him and he reached over to squeeze her shoulder once. “No one has ever done magic like this before. Do you not think, if it were possible, someone else already would have?”

As it happened, Draco had stopped wondering about that a few weeks ago, when he had read a 1509AD text on Transfiguration Charms his house-elf Bowse had found buried in the back of Draco’s father’s library. It had answered several niggling questions he had started to worry about, the deeper he had delved into the methods and spells he was planning to use. At least, he thought it did. The language in it was so old-fashioned, Draco was re-reading it with a dictionary and a translation charm. But still, he really thought he could do this. He tried to think of how to explain this to Pansy, and gave up before he began. He did not understand it well enough to explain. Not yet. So instead, he just nodded. “I know it will be a challenge, but I am going to try.”

“Do you really think you can magic up solid, touchable, interactive ‘participants’ who would, er, be able to ‘join’ you?”

“Pun intended,” Draco giggled. Pansy laughed right along with him, but he could still see skepticism in her eyes. He was going to prove her wrong, though. He could do this. He already had a plan for the magical underpinnings, half sketched out and sitting in a warded box hidden inside his desk. Once he finished re-reading his old book, he thought he would be able to finish laying out the full design. 

“I have missed you so much,” he confessed again, hugging her. It was almost astonishing how short she felt in his arms. To her fury she had stopped getting taller at fourteen. Draco still had not, as far as he could tell. 

“If anyone can, it will be you,” Pansy declared as she took the Floo powder into her hands.

He missed her before she finished stepping into the fireplace.


	3. Arrangements and Rearrangements

The Manor felt different, wrong, after the Dark Lord. But Father had been sentenced to permanent, lifelong, house arrest. While they were able to keep him in the UK, the Ministry had not been able to legally lock him down to any one particular house, and he and Mother had bounced between their three other UK properties for a few months before giving up and heading back to Malfoy Manor.

After a summer of this, and coming from Hogwarts of a weekend to visit his parents in two of these less-familiar homes, Draco found he now greatly preferred the one near rural Myddfai.

Draco could still tolerate Malfoy Manor, but he was no longer fond of it. He left for Wales the morning after Boxing Day. “It no longer feels like home in here,” he lamented to his mother. 

“I understand, my darling,” Mother had sighed. She trailed a hand along the edge of the grand piano none of them knew how to play. “It is hard for your father and me, too. But for the two of us, this house holds enough happy memories we can choose to recall, instead.”

“I get the sense,” Draco tried, looking out the window at the snowy lawns instead of at his mother, “it gives you some satisfaction to redecorate, as well.”

“How astute of you, my darling boy,” Mother had said, and it felt settled. Draco moved to Myddfai, and his parents stayed in Wiltshire.

Returning to the quiet of a large, empty home in rural Wales gave Draco a thousand ideas about how he could make a magical holodeck of his own. He hardly slept that last week before returning to Hogwarts for the second term.

But before he left, he subscribed to every tabloid publication he could find, all to arrive at his new home. He was going to need photos of Harry Potter and Severus Snape. The more flattering, the better. Shirtless would be better, still.

xXx

By the time Draco finished taking his NEWTs, his magical holodeck was fully planned out, from the underlying structural spells to the special potions he would need to brew and apply to every floor, window and doorway, all the way through to the little charms and enchantments which would enhance the experience and make it as indistinguishable from reality as Draco could manage. Well, except (of course) the cosmetic changes it would make to _Draco_. Those would certainly enhance the experience, too. Who needed sectumsempra scars and the faded remains of a Dark Mark? He was looking forward to once again seeing himself without them.

With his father and mother choosing not to leave the Manor, he’d found it easier and easier to slip home from Hogwarts to spend weekends alone at his “new” home hidden away inside Brecon Beacons National Park. It was a quiet place to study. Bowse the house-elf took excellent care of him. And – whenever he could spare the time – Draco had worked on the plans for his magical holodeck. Even with NEWTs looming, he found time to spare quite often.

Even better, it turned out working on the holodeck was good for his marks in his real subjects. Academically motivated in a way he had never been before, Draco did a great deal of extra work in Charms, Transfiguration, and Arithmancy during the second half of that year. He wrote essays about using Jengyn’s Charmwork to gently fold and curve space, learned fascinating things about ways the rules about conservation of matter could combine with Apparition and auto-Transfiguration to seamlessly contour the environment around him, and nearly did a full thesis on the Arithmancy of predictive background and peripheral normalcy. His professors all declared themselves extremely impressed with his work. It made him snort a little to himself, when he really thought about it. 

And so the school year progressed, with Draco spending every weekend in Myddfai working incessantly on both his studies and his incentives, receiving excellent marks and comfortably interacting with almost no one.

xXx

Less than an hour after he had taken his last NEWT, Draco had Bowse pack his things and he returned to Myddfai without fanfare. There were parties and feasts and a ball to attend, of course, but Draco had no interest, and he knew no one would miss him, either.

Once home, Draco slept for fourteen hours, ate an enormous meal, took a nap, then a long bath, and then stared, unthinking, at a wall. Eventually he roused himself. It was done. His last year of Hogwarts was over, his probation was half over. His childhood was over, too. 

Draco settled in to nervously await his NEWT results. It would take at least two weeks for the owl to come.

He was pretty sure he could survive without vibrating out of his skin.

xXx

Waking to the pleasant scent of the Wandings English Breakfast Draco had requested be brought every morning at 10, Draco sat up and stretched out his spine. “Thank you, Bowse,” he told his house-elf, who bowed once, silently awaiting a dismissal or other request. “A bath this morning, I think,” Draco said, putting his feet on the floor and picking up his cup of tea. He took a sip and sighed. It was perfect.

“Very good, Master,” Bowse answered. He waved a gnarled little hand toward Draco’s en suite, and Draco heard the water begin to rush into the bath. “Any meals will be you taking at the Manor today?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. He took his tea and walked across the room to look out the window. “Mum expects me for lunch.” He sighed and scratched his belly. A few flakes of dried come drifted away onto the heavy rug under Draco’s feet. Draco wriggled his bare toes into the soft, light blue pile. “Please change my sheets? And I will have a fried egg and a slice of wholemeal toast when I am dressed.”

“I shall lay out clothings to please Mistress Narcissa?” Bowse asked as he began to strip the bed. 

“That is a good idea,” Draco agreed absently, still looking out at his garden. “We are all going a bit spare, awaiting my NEWT results. Anything I can do to keep Mum and Father from snapping at me.” Draco finished his tea and tossed the cup toward Bowse as he walked to the steamy en suite to take his bath. 

“Wash my hair?” he asked, and Bowse sent the teacup off to the kitchen and followed Draco. 

“Just six more days, Bowse,” Draco sighed as he stepped into the hot water. 

“Six, Master.” Bowse agreed. “Your NEWT results then. Excellent will they.” He sounded completely confident, and Draco smiled, wry. Whatever else happened, Bowse believed in him.

“Merlin,” Draco said, already tired of the luncheon he would share with his parents in less than two hours. “I hope so.”

xXx

The waiting had to end eventually, and of course, it eventually did. Two weeks, three days and seventeen hours after he walked, a free man, out of his last oral and practical examination, a lovely little golden brown barn owl floated down into the garden where Draco was sitting, staring at a cup of tea gone cold.

Nothing but Outstanding and Exceeds Expectations on all but one of his results. He had gone ahead and taken a NEWT in Muggle Studies, in the end. (McGonagall had made it seem _quite_ obligatory). But of course, “Professor” Hennage had not prepared him at all, and he had failed with a result of “Poor.” Better than Dreadful or Troll, Draco thought, dismissively, and ran his fingers over all his “O’s” and “E’s.”

Then he Flooed to the Manor to brag to his mother and father.

xXx

Mother might believe that somehow, against all odds, Draco was going to get a job at the Ministry, but Draco thought she was… overly optimistic, there. He had done exceptionally well in school every year, but the Ministry would not be hiring a Marked man, no matter how faded the Mark.

So, once he had taken half a day to just sleep and eat and walk the woods behind his Myddfai house, he carefully examined the detailed breakdown of his NEWT results and saw they told him something he pretty much already knew.

More than anything else he had studied, Draco was exceedingly good at potions. Surely that had positive implications for potential employment? A lot of people needed a good brewer.

Yes, he was perfectly competent with quite a lot of things he had studied at school, and he had achieved very good marks in just about everything. But those things were not going to get him a job. Not anything he thought his parents would approve of, at least. Potions, however, had real flexibility as well as real potential. When his probation ended he could try for a mastery. He could sell mail-order. He could look into inventing new potions, or at least streamlining brewing practices. With experiences like those under his belt, and a few years gone from the War, he could someday possibly even analyse data for the Aurors, or St Mungo’s. Not to mention, he did not need anyone else’s approval or permission to set up a home laboratory and see what he could do.

And so, Draco’s first real test of his new holodeck system had involved feeding it every potions book, text and journal article he could find, including not only everything he had ever bought for studying at Hogwarts, but also everything in his Myddfai home library. In addition, Bowse helped him borrow and return all the potions books from the other Malfoy properties. 

To Draco’s delight, he found quite a few heavily annotated copies of more than one well-regarded potions text. (A nice way of saying there were books his relatives had scribbled all over. Luckily, a talent for potions clearly ran in the family. Those scribbles were full of insight.) Draco had then generated a simulated Professor Snape to help him.

xXx

“Explain,” Professor Snape demanded.

“As you know, sir,” Draco began, standing up as tall as possible and striving to inflect his voice with a professional sounding calm, “the principal ingredients of Wit-Sharpening Potion are powdered scarab, peppermint, ginger root, and armadillo bile. The textbook taught that with an exclusively widdershins orientation to the stir and extremely fresh peppermint and bile, a solid result would be obtained.”

“But?” the professor prompted. He leaned casually against Draco’s worktop, pulling his severe black teaching robes tight over his cock – just for a moment. He was erect, possibly even not wearing trousers. Draco took one breath in, released it, and closed his eyes to better concentrate on explaining his changes and the thought behind them. Rewards came after success.

“But I thought, because of the solar implication of the scarab beetle, a clockwise orientation was worth experimenting with.”

“Good,” Professor Snape prompted, and Draco explained how he had tinkered with the stirring until he had determined he should start clockwise, then flip back and forth. “In other words, sir, when the potion is meant to turn green or yellow, it works better to stir clockwise. When it is meant to turn red or blue, it works better to stir widdershins. This means a neat back-and-forth alternation, which is simple enough to recall.”

“I see,” Snape said, picking up a vial of yellowish-orange potion and holding it up to the light. “The colour is different.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco agreed. “I also slightly increased the ginger, to improve the taste. It changed the colour, as a side effect. I also used a larger, older beetle than the standard recipe suggested, as age can afford wisdom. I find my version sharpens my wits for approximately 47 minutes longer than the textbook standard.”

Snape put the vial down and caught Draco’s eyes. “Very good. I approve. Of your theory, of your methods, and of your results.”

He stood tall, then looked down at Draco. 

At first Draco’s conjured Snape had been accurate to the deceased man in height, but Draco had gained four or five inches at least since Snape had last taught him potions, and he found it felt wrong to be taller than his professor. So he had ratcheted the man up to a solid six foot four, which made Draco feel suitably student-like in his presence. 

“Thank you, sir,” Draco had said, now looking greedily, directly, at Snape’s crotch.

“Was there something you wanted, then?” His voice was silky and warm, and Draco shivered his anticipation. “A reward for your hard work?”

“Yes,” Draco declared. “I want you to show me your big cock. I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to come while I watch you come.”

“You have more than earned it,” the professor agreed, and with a wave of one hand, he undid every tiny button, all the way down the front of his robes.

Draco felt rewarded indeed.

xXx

By mid-winter, Draco hardly interacted with anyone, save Bowse (obviously), and his conjured, randy version of Professor Snape.

But his exploratory potions work was coming along quite nicely, which usually got Mother off his back. When he was lucky, he could satisfy her with a short note, or a brief Floo call. He did get summoned to luncheon occasionally, but he was able to contain his parents. He generally ate only one meal with them per week. 

And the holodeck, too, was progressing quite well. Not that Mother knew anything about _that_.


	4. Getting to Test You, Getting to Test All About You

Draco woke from a blissful sleep. He had yet to try a holodeck-generated lover, but the night before he had thought to try something nearly as good. He had stripped to nothing (a “nothing” so complete, it beautifully erased both his sectumsempra scars and the faded remains of his Mark, just as Draco had intended) and had the holodeck send a version of Harry Potter into his bedroom. He had bidden this Harry sit wide-legged on Draco’s bed, back against the headboard amidst a pile of pillows. Then, biting his lip, Draco had sat in between the conjured man’s legs, leaning his back against the other’s chest. He knew the holodeck would be far less burdened to make a fake Harry feel like a real person were that person 1: clothed and 2: not what Draco was looking at.

Then, Draco had conjured up his pornographic film to play out in front of them. Before he had begun to work on the Holodeck, Draco had liked to laugh to himself that this porn film was his _real_ senior Hogwarts thesis. Not that he had turned either of them in! But he had been working on this thing, in some capacity, for years. In its current form, it involved no dialogue, just Draco Malfoy receiving the thick, hard gift of Severus Snape and Harry Potter’s big cocks, over and over, in as many ways as Draco could think up and play out between them.

Then, while he leaned against “Harry’s” warm, hard chest, and watched “Potter” and “Snape” bugger him senseless six ways to Sunday, Draco had slowly masturbated himself into oblivion and a sleep so deep that – when he woke the next morning – he felt as rested as though he’d slept for a week.

Draco sang through his shower, tapped a merry tune on the wall as he skipped down the hallway, hummed as he ate his breakfast and smiled as he skimmed through the more believable parts of the Daily Prophet. It was time to ramp up the functionality of the holodeck. Last night he’d never felt like he was leaning back against anything less solid, and human, than a real chest and pair of strong legs (with a lovely, hard cock pressing into the small of his back). If his spells could manage that, then he was pretty sure he could manage real sex with a fake man.

It was a beautiful, sunny March morning, so Draco planted himself at the desk he’d had Bowse put by the window in the main front parlour. This was where he most liked to do his reading, planning and spell work. Here he had a pleasant view of his front walkways, where his father’s silly white peacocks pranced about. Every property had to have them. When he bothered to look up from his work, which was not often, he could see his mother’s flower garden to one side, the front gates nearly choked with climbing vines, and even part of the neatly swept front steps.

He had Bowse bring him soup and a sandwich and two vials of his modified Wit-Sharpening Potion, then worked through lunch, confident he was making incredible progress. It would not be long, he thought, before his holodeck would be capable of its ultimate goal: getting Draco fully and satisfyingly fucked. He cast improvements throughout the morning and early afternoon, making small tests here and there. He was utterly delighted by success after success. 

He spent much of the day half-hard and refusing to do anything about it. Wanting to orgasm was fantastic motivation to work harder, faster and better. He knew from experience: a wank break would not only delay his spellwork, but dampen his creativity. 

Soon, Draco was reasonably sure the holodeck was both functioning nearly at potential, and fully covering the house’s entire North Wing. He had chosen the small North Wing because it held his new bedroom but not his parents’ suite, and who knew when they might choose to return? It was their house, after all. You know, technically.

xXx

About an hour after a light dinner, eaten again at his desk in the front parlour, Draco stood to stretch out his back. It was time for a real test. It was time to see if his intense concentration had finally paid off. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked out the front window into the waning twilight to see what it was. Peacocks, running away pell-mell. Because Harry Potter was stepping up, onto Draco’s front step. Draco’s predictive spell work was working even better than he had expected.

Smoothing his hair and tunic, Draco rushed to the front door and opened it. “Come in!” he yelled, delighted, and Potter did. Draco reached for his hand and took it. “Perfectly solid!” he declared, quite pleased with himself. He shut the door firmly and pushed Potter into the hall.

“Malfoy,” Potter began, sounding adorably confused, but Draco was not interested in conversational realism right now.

“Hush, Potter,” he dismissed. “We can test that later. I confess, I only have one thing on my mind right now.” He shoved Potter against the wall and fell to his knees in front of the conjured man. Ignoring Potter’s silly sounds, Draco undid his clothing and drew out his cock. It was completely flaccid, but that was acceptable. Draco did not mind going through the process of getting his concocted lover hard. Eager to find out if – and how quickly – that would work, Draco began sucking Potter’s cock immediately.

Potter made completely different sounds now, but Draco was not too interested. Audio output had always been excellent. That was the first thing he had fully mastered. He was confident his formulated Potter would sound like the real thing. It was the cock he was eager to test.

And wow, he had done a fucking fantastic job on the cock! It was hot, thick, and expanding extremely rapidly. Potter smelled good, like a man who had recently taken a thorough shower and used… Draco paused in his attentions to breathe in deeply through his nose. Lavender soap, he decided. As Potter’s cock got hard it got longer (good work, Draco!) but it was still attractively veiny and behaving like a properly uncircumcised cock. Draco concentrated on tonguing the foreskin until it was completely retracted over the hot, fat head.

“Merlin,” Draco moaned when he came up for air. He still had a hand around his prize, and could not resist stroking it up and down as he admired the cock he’d painstakingly midwifed into magical existence. “I do beautiful fucking work.”

Draco did not bother to wait for his lover to respond. He was just spellwork, after all. And would any man, real or spellcraft, have an unpredictable response to a surprise cock-sucking? Draco did not think so. It was far more important, really, to find out if his conjured lover leaked any pre-come.

Fucking hell, he did! And his pre-come was dead-on accurate. It tasted, Draco decided, as he milked fake Potter’s fake cock for as much of it as he could get, pretty much exactly like Draco’s pre-come. Potter was trying to say something, but Draco ignored him. He was too excited about the accurate-tasting pre-come. Thrilled, Draco tried to shove the tip of his tongue deeper into the slit at the tip of Potter’s cock. He hardly noticed when the “man” it was attached to stopped trying to talk and started gurgling incoherently, instead.

Absently, Draco noticed Potter’s balls were starting to draw up a bit. He stopped sucking Potter’s cock and frowned down at it. “I have no idea how many times you can orgasm in an hour or so,” he said, talking directly to the cock still in his hand. Potter was panting.

“Me either,” Potter replied, breathy and eager. “Can I fuck you?”

“Wow,” Draco said, thrilled. “I did not know I had successfully managed to incorporate such initiative! Yes. _Merlin_ yes, you can fuck me. We should do that in my bed, this minute!”

Draco could not Apparate inside the house, but since Potter was a spell-construct, he could appear anywhere inside (or just outside, apparently!) the North Wing. Therefore, Draco was surprised Potter followed him down the hallway on foot, but he had intentionally programmed quite a lot of deference and solicitous behaviour into Potter, so he supposed this was just his exceedingly precocious magical work coming to bear. Strutting now, Draco walked faster. He could hardly wait to get that solicitous, deferential version of Potter into his arse.

It did not take long to get to his rooms. Draco slammed the bedroom door closed as soon as they were both inside.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” he growled, and started to do the same for himself, pleased all over again to realize his holodeck successfully hid his scars and made his old Mark invisible. Halfway through unbuttoning his robes, he stopped. He wanted to watch Potter undress, nice and slow, like a striptease. Better, he realized, he then wanted _Potter_ to undress _him_. He smiled and lifted his head, but Potter just sat on a upholstered bench and ripped off his trainers without untying the laces.

Draco frowned as he watched Potter not respond to his thoughts. Fake Professor Snape had been far more responsive to Draco’s unspoken desires. He needed to fine-tune Potter’s magic, apparently. Potter yanked off his socks and stood up.

Frowning harder, Draco snapped his fingers. Potter stopped unzipping his jeans and looked up at Draco, whose heart nearly stopped in his chest. He had snapped his fingers at _Harry Potter_. Who had then _obeyed him_. It was heady stuff, even taking into account this was not actually Harry Potter at all, but a spelled construct, a delightful facsimile.

“Undress slower,” Draco demanded as imperiously as he knew how, forcibly pushing down his doubts. “I want to watch.”

Potter gulped, visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his strong brown throat. But he slowed his hands. “Er, all right,” he mumbled, and began to shimmy his jeans down, slow over his narrow hips.

Leaving his ordinary white pants on, Potter kicked his jeans away. He took a few, hesitant moments to pull his black t-shirt over his head. Potter was hard; leaking a wet spot onto the front of his uninspiring pants.

“I need to get you into sexier underthings,” Draco mumbled.

“I thought you wanted me naked,” Potter responded, and his adorable confusion was almost too much. Draco shivered and had to hold himself back from just pouncing.

“Come undress me,” he managed, and Potter took the few steps closer and began to obey, further unbuttoning Draco’s robes.

“Kiss me,” Draco demanded, and Potter obeyed again, kissing Draco’s lips once, twice… but then kissing Draco’s neck, his shoulder, removing his robes completely and licking Draco’s hard little nub of a nipple….

If Potter had not been fake, Draco’s loud moan would have been awfully embarrassing. As it was, though, fake Potter seemed to finally be responding to Draco’s unspoken needs, because he took the moan as a cue to pull Draco close and seize another, heady kiss. Draco found himself panting, sweating, as his spelled paramour trailed kisses from Draco’s lips, back to his neck. 

“We should fuck,” Draco heard himself say. Potter hummed into Draco’s shoulder and reached for Draco’s cock. 

“You’re so hard,” Potter said, and his voice was perfect. Breathy. Appreciative. _Grateful_ , for fuck’s sake. 

“For you? Of course,” Draco said. It was easy to flatter a Potter with whom he had no baggage and never would. Even when he was not a hero or a saviour, Potter was – still and always – beautiful. 

Draco twisted his hips to better feel Potter’s fingers grip his cock. Potter slipped Draco’s trousers off his hips, allowed them to fall on the carpet. Then he knelt ( _knelt_!) in front of Draco to slip his pants off his hips. He kissed Draco’s erection through the cloth, and Draco struggled to breathe, watching him. 

It was so easy to forget this Potter was spellwork. Draco’s spellwork was just _that_ good.

On the other hand, somehow that knowledge was always upmost in Draco’s mind. But that was good, Draco mused, as his beautiful toy pulled Draco’s pants off and helped him slip them off one foot, then the other. Only that knowledge gave him the confidence to tell Potter how to touch him. It was the only thing that made enjoying this even possible, Draco reflected as Potter’s facsimile took Draco’s hips in a tight grip and sucked the first two inches of Draco’s cock into his mouth.

If this were the real thing, Draco knew, taking Potter’s wild black curls into his fists and pushing himself further, harder over Potter’s eager tongue, Draco would not be fucking this beautiful man’s face. He would be fully clothed and gibbering in a corner. Or punching the man in the eye, Draco realized, throwing his head back and whimpering as his creation took his cock ever deeper and stroked his balls. That might be even more likely.

xXx

An hour later, after coming on Potter’s abs, dozing while cuddling, then finally coming in Potter’s mouth, Draco roused himself from his stupour. It was getting late, and he had things to do before he fell asleep for the night. As wonderful as his holodeck was proving to be, he did have actual responsibilities, and if he did not fulfill them, Mother would surely come calling to find out why. That was definitely worth avoiding.

Stretching, he felt a solid form behind him. Potter’s warm arm snaked around his waist and tried to pull him closer.

“Why are you still here?” Draco turned around under Potter’s fantastically realistic arm. “I could not possibly have another orgasm any time soon.”

“You want me to leave?” 

“Merlin, I cannot believe it.” Draco peered deep into Potter’s eyes, wishing he could do better diagnostics. “You actually sound disappointed. That is an emotional realism I was not even trying for.”

“That’s another thing,” Potter pulled himself up to sit against the headboard. He crossed his arms defensively over his naked chest. Feeling cold, Draco withdrew from the bed to pull on his dressing gown. He slipped his wand into the pocket and turned to look at his “guest.” 

Potter’s lower half was still under Draco’s sheet. Draco could not decide if this was a relief or a disappointment. He sat at the foot of his bed and waited for “Potter” to continue.

“You keep talking about me in the weirdest ways. It’s like you think I’m… not really here? Or, no. That’s not quite it. You talk to yourself, about me. In front of me. Anyway, it’s weird. I don’t understand what it’s about, but I – I would like you to stop.”

“Fine,” Draco said, shaking his head at the stupidity of needing to protect a spelled construct’s “feelings.” “I can stop.”

“Thank you,” Potter said, almost prim.

Draco closed his eyes so he could hide the roll he could no longer hold back. “You should go now, all right?” he said, trying to be polite. How realistic had he made this thing?

“May I, er, come back?” Potter asked, sounding remarkably uncertain. 

Draco nearly gaped at him, but restrained himself. Conjured Potter did not want him to acknowledge he was conjured? Even weirder, conjured Potter did not want him to acknowledge he was _conjured exclusively for the purpose of fucking Draco senseless_? Well, all right. Fine, even. Draco could pretend. It might even be… fun. 

“I never even managed to say anything about why I wanted to come round in the first place,” Potter continued, looking adorably confused and insecure again.

Draco kissed him once, almost innocent except for the faint taste of Draco’s come still in Harry’s conjured mouth. “I very much want you to return,” Draco reassured his favourite new magical toy. Honestly, this part was easy, if he ignored how dumb it ought to make him feel. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Potter agreed, giving Draco an enormous, dopey smile. “Tomorrow.”


	5. The Suddenly Boring Life of a Wealthy Young Man

Draco did not bother to “see Potter out,” which was apparently terribly confusing, but Draco had had just about enough of his construct’s realism for the time being. 

Far worse, while the spelled version had of course said nothing about it, Draco had noticed as soon as Potter got his shirt off that he was… fit. Rock hard. Coming up on washboard abs, even. Certainly he was far more fit than Draco, who had spent the last year studying incessantly, recovering from the war, and not even playing so much as the occasional game of pick-up quidditch. 

His spelled Potter, on the other hand, had been based on two Witch Weekly photoshoots, a soft-focus charity calendar, and a whole lot of touched-up newspaper photos of Potter being surprised by paparazzi just about anywhere you could imagine. (Including once at a swimming pool.)

The newspaper did not print photos of Potter as-is. Draco was confident of that.

In other words, the conjured version might not be perfectly realistic, and of course he would never criticize Draco’s physique, but he still made Draco feel a bit… scrawny. Finding a mostly empty room, Draco transfigured an old, unused iron bedstead into weights and turned an abandoned wooden nightstand into a bench. Then he had Bowse watch as he exercised to make sure nothing heavy fell on his head. When he was soaked and exhausted forty-five minutes later, he took a shower and – thinking of Mother’s demands – worked on his CV for a while. Then it was time for bed.

Almost half an hour later, Draco lay in his bedroom and frowned into the lonely, empty dark. After a day full of successful tests of his Holodeck; multiple, powerful orgasms; and tonnes of exercise; Draco could not understand why he had not fallen asleep as soon as he had climbed under the blanket. Frowning, he punched his pillow again, twisted in the sheets, and wondered if he had it in him to orgasm again.

“Draco,” came a sultry, deep voice.

“Severus?” Draco responded. He went to turn toward the sound, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“Both of us, actually,” he heard in Potter’s more youthful tone, and Draco shuddered with anticipation. Yes, this should be exactly what he needed to get to sleep tonight.

xXx

Unsurprisingly, Draco again woke in a thoroughly marvelous mood. It seemed his holodeck was now complete, so he went to his new exercise room and got forty-five exhausting minutes of moderately heavy lifting out of the way before his morning bath.

Bowse made him an excellent breakfast, and he ate on the patio, near the little garden Mother had tended for a while before handing it over to the house-elves. Then Bowse brought him all his papers, and he started in again on his CV. 

Mother was pleased with his potions work, but still insisted Draco needed a good job at the Ministry; and though Draco was quite convinced it was a fool’s errand, he was not interested in crossing Mother. So, he would perfect his CV and apply for jobs. Perhaps there would even be interviews, and Draco would take them seriously if given any opportunities. He would not leave anything undone, because he would not allow Mother to accuse him of sabotaging this effort. That, he sneered to himself as he rewrote a sentence about his skills as a “team player,” had already been accomplished ever so effectively by Father.

Some time later, when Draco was thoroughly sick of his CV, he looked up at the cloudy Welsh sky. It would probably rain in an hour or so, he decided, so he should go for a walk while there was still some sun. 

He changed into clothes suitable for a jaunt about his lands, and left via the front door, then promptly headed around to the back of the house. Unlike the Manor, the Myddfai property had relatively little lawn between the gates and front door. It was behind this house that their land really stretched out. But Draco did not just love the land, he also loved the house. It was so different from the Manor: one storey, not three. Brown brick, not soaring columns and pale stone. Unassuming (despite those stupid peacocks), not pretentious and off-putting. 

Gripping his hiking stick, opening his chest and broadening his shoulders to really breathe in the clean air, Draco gazed at the lands he now preferred. The landscapes of Wiltshire still felt like home, but Wales had so much to offer. Just inside his own fencing he had a lovely stone folly an ancestor had commissioned many generations ago, a gorge with a waterfall, hills and valleys and _so many birds_.

Perhaps it was because of his own love of flying, but Draco just loved to watch “his” birds fly.

He Apparated home two hours later tired and fully satisfied, just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Smiling broadly out his front window, Draco watched the water pour from the sky. He could not have timed that more perfectly, he decided, then sat at his little table by the front window to watch the rain. After only a few minutes, though, he was frowning. 

“I am not cut out for this, Bowse,” he told the house-elf, who had come to clean the mud from Draco’s shoes and offer Draco a robe better suited for lounging about the house.

Draco let the house-elf change his clothes.

“No, sir?” Bowse asked politely.

“I do not know what the hell to do with myself,” Draco confessed, looking Bowse in the face. “I have finished my holodeck project. I have owled multiple CVs to the Ministry and could not work on that bloody document any further unless Mother were standing over me, pointing a wand at my head. I have already lifted weights and taken a walk. I have radically improved the brewing methodology of three separate potions from the Hogwarts curriculum, and I have absolutely nothing else planned. I really need a job.”

“Does Master have wishes of friends to visit hims?” Bowse suggested.

“No,” Draco confessed, now looking out the window. “Not really. Pansy has already been married off. I was allowed to attend the wedding, but her new husband is rather terrified of my perfectly abysmal new reputation. I take the risk of sending her an owl sometimes, but I always write with the assumption that her new husband will read them first. It has really curtailed our gossip.” Draco sighed. 

“Blaise lives in Italy now. I cannot quite work out from his very rare letters if he is living a life of leisure, or learning a trade from an uncle, but he is a terrible correspondent and it has been his turn for a while. As for Millicent and Greg, now that they are together, neither wants much to do with me. And I still want nothing to do with Theo, the twat. Worse, I heard from Pansy; Theo is getting serious about Queenie. Which means she will not want to come over for tea, either.”

And that was pretty much the whole roster.

“I suppose I could call up my holodeck,” Draco mused, but he was not really interested in getting fucked or sucked right now.

“Perhaps the library?” Bowse suggested, and, sighing just a touch, Draco acknowledged the wisdom of the idea, and headed there.

Bowse, bless him, had recently found a stash of old Muggle novels some long-dead Malfoy wife or daughter (astonishingly, named Blanche) had hidden away. She had hidden the book, but nonetheless written her name on the inside cover. Draco was soon engrossed in _Marriage_ by Susan Ferrier. Published in 1818, it was equal parts tawdry and brilliant, and Draco soon found himself completely entranced.

xXx

Bowse kept bringing Draco tea, and after a while Draco found his concentration completely wrecked by a need to pee. Returning afterwards to his comfortable seat in his warm library, he stared down at the book he had left on his chair and sighed. He did not want to read anymore. He felt restless, itchy. He was bored.

It was probably time to work out some of that with the holodeck.

Draco was headed to his room to call up one or both of his conjured lovers, when Bowse appeared. “Harry Potter at door is for you, sir,” he said, and Draco smiled. “That worked well,” he said, choosing to ignore the inconsistency. Turning around, Draco headed for the front parlour, where Potter stood waiting.

“So glad to see you,” Draco said, warm and pleased, as he strode briskly toward his Potter. Opening his arms, Draco did not slow down, just manoeuvred in and took a kiss. 

“Cor, Malfoy,” Potter said. “Forward, much?”

“Pfft,” Draco scoffed, and reached in between them to rub “his” Potter’s cock through his ubiquitous denims. He did so like the look of Harry Potter wearing blue jeans. “Is this not why you are here?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, Draco just took more kisses, pleased when his conjured Potter ceased to hesitate and instead reached his hands down, taking them from Draco’s waist and shoulder and instead putting both of them to work at firmly gripping Draco’s arse.

“It isn’t…” Harry nipped at Draco’s mouth with gentle teeth. “The only reason….” Harry’s tongue and teeth moved to Draco’s neck, and Draco found this pleasing, so he let his head fall back. Harry seemed intent upon marking Draco’s neck, biting kisses and sucking blood to the surface in between slow rolls of his hips and squeezes of Draco’s clothed arse. 

“But your other reasons can wait,” Draco said. He barely cared what he said, as long as it got them naked in bed together as quickly as possible.

“Yeah…” his Harry agreed, sounding distracted as Draco pulled one foot off the floor and hitched a leg up on Harry’s thigh. Soon Draco was being pushed into the wall. His mind nearly shut down.

“Bed.” Draco commanded before he could not speak at all, and took his hands off Harry’s arse to grab Harry’s pleasingly solid, even warm hand. “ _Merlin_ but I do good work,” he muttered as he dragged Potter off to fuck him in his bed. Quietly, so as not to offend his overly sensitive spell.

“Bed,” his Potter agreed. “Then talk.”

Draco did not bother dignifying that with an answer. He simply started to remove his clothing as he rushed down the long hallway to his bedroom. That should distract his bizarre, spelled toy. Which had not been distracted like this last night! And Severus was never distracted like this.

Perhaps Draco had work to do on the holodeck after all. Inconsistency might signal larger problems.

But later. After a good, hard fuck.

They arrived at the door of Draco’s bedroom as Draco lost his second shoe. Wearing nothing but pants and socks, Draco crawled backwards onto his bed, deliberately losing first one sock, then the second, to friction with the bedspread. He found a pot of lube in the headboard and opened the lid after throwing his pants to the floor. Then he reached for his nearly full erection, spread his legs, and threw his head back onto the large pile of pillows. 

“Get on this bed,” he insisted, husky and impatient. He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as his Potter disrobed so quickly he looked like he might hurt himself. 

“Need that tight arse,” Potter muttered as he climbed in between Draco’s legs.

“Good,” Draco said, grinning. “Because that is exactly where I want you to shove your lovely big cock.”

Harry climbed onto the bed and went for Draco without hesitation. Straddling him, he began with open mouthed kisses, coaxing Draco’s tongue into his own mouth and then chasing it back. It was not long before Draco was trying to pull his lover inward, with his heels. 

“You want my cock, don’t you?” Potter whispered into Draco’s ear. He almost sounded smug, but Draco found he did not care.

“Yes, and hurry,” he said. “I feel so empty, Harry. Please fuck me, fill me up?”

“Don’t you need a finger first?” Harry said, but he was rubbing the head of his cock against Draco’s perineum and Draco _wanted_.

“No,” Draco whimpered. “Just lube. I’m so ready.”

Harry dug two fingers into the little pot the holodeck had helpfully supplied, and swiped lube onto his dick. Then he made a choked little noise at the back of his throat as he found Draco’s hole. Holding his cock in his hand, he began to force his way inside Draco’s body. Draco took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on relaxing his muscles. He did want this, and he did want it now, but he probably should have taken Harry up on that offer of a bit of finger fucking because this stung a little. It was good nonetheless. Draco arched his back and spread his arms out across the bed as Harry filled him, further and further into his arse.

“Okay?” Harry asked, and Draco finally remembered that his spell was a sensitive little soul. 

“So good,” he whispered. “Love it. Love feeling you inside me. Please, do not stop. I want to feel your balls up against mine. I want to feel your wiry hair and smell your lavender soap and Ah!”

Harry had taken the last half of his cock and pushed himself all the rest of the way in, one hard shove.

xXx

“That was so fucking good,” Draco sighed, eyes closed, limbs relaxed and warm. He lay against his deliciously realistic spellcrafted man and smiled to feel his lover stroke the skin of his stomach.

“We’re amazing together,” his Potter answered, speaking quietly into the short hairs just behind Draco’s right ear.

“I love getting fucked by you,” Draco murmured. He could hear the smug tone he had not intended to use. It did not matter that this was not a real man. Draco simply could not help but feel every positive emotion that came from spectacular sex and post-coital adoration. He felt beautiful, adored, special. Smiling, he pressed his well-used arse back against Potter’s flaccid cock.

Potter groaned and pulled Draco closer. One arm was between them, running down Draco’s back and arse and the curve of his thigh. The other was wrapped around Draco’s chest. Draco maneuvered his arse in relation to Potter’s sandwiched arm. He wanted both of Potter’s hands busy pleasing him. “You could finger fuck me now,” he pointed out. “And you could grab that nipple, too. You have two hands, you know.”

“Bloody hell,” Potter moaned, sounding either amazed or exhausted. “You are impossible to satisfy. Did I not just hammer you into this bed?”

“Mm,” Draco answered, knowing he sounded extremely pleased. He wriggled his arse and ostentatiously placed Potter’s fingers on his pectoral. “And it was fantastic. But I am not tired yet, and I am not all that sore–”

Potter interrupted him with a incredible groan that sent blood rushing south to Draco’s empty balls and limp cock.

“– and this is why I want you here. To fuck me over and over until I cannot remember my own name.”

Potter obligingly teased at Draco’s nipple and he began to bite at the nape of Draco’s neck.

“Excellent work, Potter,” Draco praised. “Keep that up, and I might just keep you here for another round.”

“All right,” Potter murmured, sounding a bit helpless. “But only because you’re the most gorgeous, delicious...” Potter bit Draco’s neck instead of finishing his sentence. “After this one, though, we’re really going to talk.” He whispered huskily into Draco’s ear, blowing Draco’s lengthening hair a bit. “Really.”

“Sure,” Draco said, writhing, barely aware of what he was saying, as Potter pinched his nipple and finally shoved a couple of long, strong fingers into Draco’s hole. Draco could feel his dick struggling to overcome. 

He already knew it would be worth the struggle.

xXx

Draco did, as it happened, enjoy going to sleep all spooned up and tangled with his magical Harry. (Not with Snape, that was still too weird.) But waking up to find his lover still in bed with him was _not_ what he expected. Two out of three times now, though, that was what he had awakened to. (Or was it two out of four? Did that first one count even though "Harry" was fully clothed?)

This did not make the stiffy rubbing against his sticky arse cheeks an unwelcome surprise. 

“Not my arse,” Draco whined, still not really all that awake. “M’sore.”

“I’ll suck you off if you do it back,” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear, and Draco felt his dick thicken in response. “Mm,” he murmured, turning around in Harry’s arms. “Noo,” he said, drawling it out as he drew one finger down Harry’s warm, hard chest. “Instead I want you to grind into me. Lie on top of me and kiss me until we come all over each other. Then you can join me in the shower.”

Harry’s whimpered little “okay” made Draco’s fucking spine tingle. 

“I am a genius,” Draco mumbled as his obedient, spell-crafted lover rolled on top of him and attempted to kiss and frot him into a puddle.

xXx

“Wash my back,” Draco demanded. He presented his back to Harry, who laughed and plucked a flannel from the wall hook that held a seemingly never-ending supply of clean and dry cloths.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said.

Draco ignored him. “Long strokes,” he said instead. “Cover my whole back.”

His creation sighed noisily but obeyed, and Draco tried not to hear a word he said as he babbled something about Hogwarts and terrible choices and apologies and none of it really made all that much sense. Besides, the washing felt so good, and the hot water and the steaming air, and Draco just hmmed and nodded and concentrated on the sensations.

“Okay?” Potter finally said, and Draco had completely forgotten that he could be asking about anything other than the way he had washed Draco’s back, and hair, and arse, and the back of Draco’s legs and Draco was practically a puddle again and “Of course, darling,” Draco drawled sleepily and he heard Potter’s noisy sigh but he did not care. They turned the water off and Harry dried Draco, who felt like he was nearly dead on his feet.

Draco shooed him out of the house shortly after their shower, mumbling about how there was to be no more nonsense about the whatever “thing” Harry had wanted to “talk to him about.”

It was two in the morning and Draco went straight back to bed after he shut the front door.

He slept like a rock until Bowse awakened him at 10 a.m.


	6. An encounter at the Ministry

Draco was returning from yet another long, satisfying walk through his lands when his mother’s owl arrived. He saw Persephone in the air as he rounded the corner of his house, and he stopped walking to wait for her. Persephone landed on his outstretched arm and he stroked her neck and back as her wings fluttered. Then he took the letter.

“Come in for a treat?” he asked, but Persephone dipped her head once and flew off. Dreading his mother’s words, Draco waited to open the letter until he had changed into a lounging robe and Bowse had brought his tea and a plate with a few tiny chocolate biscuits.

The letter was what he expected at first, but then it veered into a demand that Draco march his arse down to the Ministry and apply for some jobs in person, already. 

Draco swallowed. Mother sounded far less patient than he might have hoped. Enough that he could read the subtext quite clearly, even though her actual written words were (technically) as polite and formal as always.

But it was not even 11a.m. yet, and he had no excuse not to, so he had Bowse help him change into something starchy, high-necked and uncomfortable – as well as far too classic to ever be considered trendy. Then he stepped into his Floo and emerged in the Ministry lobby.

Soon he was heading for the lift with a name tag that read “Draco Malfoy, seeking employment Mother will find suitable.” It had made him wince, at first, but then he had reconsidered. Perhaps it would gain him a smidgen of sympathy? Everyone had a mother, right? At least a few of them had to be as overbearing as his own. Right?

Squaring his shoulders and taking a bracing breath, Draco prepared himself for a few hours of awkward small talk, metaphorically (he hoped) slammed doors, and perhaps, if he was truly unlucky, even a bit of groveling.

Two hours later Draco was halfway through the third floor, dropping off copies of his CV and making pained (and likely useless) attempts to charm front-desk receptionists, when Harry Potter came ’round a tight corner and banged right into him.

“Draco!” Potter exclaimed. “Malfoy!”

“Mr Potter,” Draco said as politely as he could. He could see the receptionist from the Invisibility Task Force perking up and paying attention. Merlin, if this sure-to-be embarrassing encounter got his CV more attention, maybe it would be worth it. He stood a little taller and tried to look like he and Potter had been chummy classmates for six or seven years.

“Fancy meeting you _here_ ,” Potter said, and Draco had no immediate response. Where else could Potter expect them to meet? 

Potter began to blush, and Draco found himself wondering about it, how far down did it go, did it change the colour of Harry’s nipples, if “his” Harry blushed would it be accurate to the real thing? 

Draco was pretty sure he was blushing now, himself.

He still had not spoken.

It was getting awkward.

Potter looked a bit sad.

“I do apologise, Potter.” Draco finally stumbled out some quiet words he hoped the Invisibility Task Force’s receptionist would watch, but not actually overhear. “I have been dropping copies of my CV off at Ministry departments for a while now, and I seem to have tired. How are you? Well, I trust?”

“Er,” Potter tipped his head, almost familiar. As though they were friends. Then, to Draco’s shock, he pulled at Draco’s arm so that they walked away from the sight-line of the staring, gossipy looking receptionist.

“I’m, er, great,” Harry said, and his smile was not only blinding, it was… fond? “I’m so glad I ran into you here, since, as you know, I’ve been trying to properly apologise to you for positively ages. I don’t think you actually heard anything I said, last time.”

Draco stared at him, at a loss. Potter had been… what, now? Potter looked at the floor. Was he… blushing? Surely not.

“Can I buy you a coffee, or a cuppa?” Potter said. “Just, er, how about the cafeteria? Then I won’t be interrupting your errand too much?” Impossibly, Potter looked at the floor again, and turned even redder about the ears.

“Harry!” boomed a voice Draco thought he recognised. Minister Shacklebolt was suddenly there, his hand on Harry’s other arm, his security detail looming and frowning.

“Kingsley?” Harry _had not let go of Draco’s arm yet_. “I thought we were done?”

“No, no,” Kingsley was saying, and then Harry was apologizing for his abrupt departure, and then they were gone, all four of them. The hallway felt empty enough to echo.

Draco made sure to wave jauntily at the Invisibility receptionist before he left that floor. At the very least, he hoped that baffling encounter with the Saviour might garner him an interview. There was a lot of potions work involved with Invisibility.

It might have even worked. Her wave back seemed somewhere between stunned and impressed.


	7. When owls come home to roost, there will be pellets

Cocooned in Severus’ conjured arms as he was, Draco did not hear Bowse answer the door. Fucking in the front room was new, but so exciting. Severus had first bent Draco over a chair, but then, when Draco had decided he wished to be held, Severus had pushed Draco, completely naked, up against the wall, his arse resting on the top of that same chair. Severus knelt upon it. 

Severus, as Draco almost always preferred, was wearing his trademark black teaching robes; now opened from the neck to the floor, but still over both shoulders and his back.

So when Harry Potter entered the room, Drace learned later, all he saw was his lover getting buggered up against the wall, and making tons of noise. Some tall man with black robes and long black hair was fucking deep into Draco’s arse, over and over again, and clearly doing a bang-up job of it, based on the enthusiastic sounds Draco was making.

“What the bloody _fuck_?” Harry yelped, and Draco opened his eyes. 

“Harry,” Draco said, his voice laden with syrup and sex. “Oh my, yes. That sounds just perfect. I would love to have you next. Take off those stupid clothes, lover.”

Draco closed his eyes to better enjoy the pounding he was still getting, but – to his shock – instead of obediently removing his clothes and waiting his turn to fuck Draco senseless, Potter grabbed his shoulder and wrenched it. 

“How could you cheat on me?” he demanded, and then he turned his head, saw Severus’ face, and screamed.

Severus sighed and pulled his enormous erection gently from Draco’s arse before stepping away and shimmering out of existence.

Draco stared at Harry, shocked, confused, even slightly embarrassed; although that made no sense whatsoever. What on earth did he have to be embarrassed about? And what was the matter with his fake Potter?

Still, his arse was leaking lube, he was naked on top of a chair, and his spelled-up Harry facsimile was not only furious but freaked out. And still fully dressed. So Draco jumped down lightly to grab his robe. He wrapped it around himself, not even bothering to button it. Instead, he overlapped the front with his hands, and stood as tall as possible, looking down at the man pacing about and grabbing at his hair.

“Was that Professor Snape?” his spell-toy asked, sounding utterly horrified. Draco nodded once, wondering how he had fucked up his spells and potions so badly as to apparently make Potter suddenly go all the way past self-aware into self-deluded. 

Deluded into thinking he was Potter’s actual self.

This was getting confusing.

“Of course it was,” Draco said, attempting to use gentle tones. “You know he is my other spelled construct, I have had threesomes with the both of you. Have you… forgotten that, somehow? I am suddenly unsure about how much memory I managed to successfully build in to your architecture… .”

Potter was staring at him, his mouth open enough to fit an entire fist.

Draco tried to let go of that image immediately. Right now, he had a problem to diagnose.

“What…” Potter started, very slow, “what do you… think I am?”

“I quite gather that you are not aware of this,” Draco said, as kindly as possible, “but you are not real, sweetheart.” He let go of his waist, but only on one side. He felt a strong, strange desire to keep his robe closed, and for now, he still needed a hand for that. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Potter said, dismissively. “Of course I’m real!” He waved a hand to emphasize his supposed “realness.”

“I know you think you are,” Draco said, walking over to his wand and spelling his robes up, buttons from the floor to just under his chin. He breathed out, once, feeling some tension seep from his shoulders. Why should he feel better clothed? In front of his spelled, personal sex toy? It made no sense, but since he simply did not want to be naked right now, he just went ahead with it. 

“I’m going to ask you again, Draco. What do you think I am?”

“I know,” Draco said, trying to be patient, “that you are a spelled construct. A facsimile of a real person. A boy I went to school with.”

“Yes, Harry Potter. But I _am_ Harry Potter,” said Draco’s copy of Potter.

“No, darling,” Draco said, and laid a gentle hand on the construct’s solid, muscular arm. “The real Harry Potter hates me. You were created to… make love to me. Just like Severus was.”

“The man who was… fucking you. When I got here.”

“Right,” Draco said, feeling slightly more relaxed. Maybe his toy was getting back to reality. “I was lonely, and randy, and I have not been able to secure a job. I had tremendous amounts of time, and no one who wanted to spend it with me except a house-elf and my mother. So I created you and Severus to keep me company, and you have both been utterly brilliant.”

“We… have?” Potter winced a bit. 

Draco sat. It seemed like he could almost seduce his pretend Harry again now, but he was not completely certain he would be safe with this version, anymore. He did not want to destroy all his hard work and begin again, but he was not prepared to be physically vulnerable with this toy until he felt utterly confident he was safe. For Merlin’s sake, he had slept in this thing’s arms!

“Yes, sweetheart,” Draco said, emphasizing the pet name. Every gentling word seemed to lower “Harry’s” shoulders slightly. “You both have. I love having sex with you. I crafted an incredible lover when I made you.”

He smiled, and watched his toy blush. 

Then his toy frowned.

“Except, you didn’t make me. I’m really Harry Potter, Draco. I don’t hate you. I haven’t hated you since… not for ages. I don’t even know anymore when I stopped.”

Draco frowned now. “We are going to have to disabuse you of that nonsense,” he said. “I cannot continue with a toy which thinks it is a real man. It strikes me as awfully dangerous. The real Potter hates me, and if you think you are he….” Draco could not quite bear to finish the sentence.

Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand in his own. “Walk into the garden with me?”

“Er, all right?” Draco stood and allowed himself to be led into the gardens in front of the house. He had expected them to enjoy the sunshine and flowers while they continued their bizarre conversation, but instead Harry’s facsimile tugged at his hand and pulled him toward the front gates. 

“I did not know the holodeck fields stretched this far,” Draco murmured as they reached the front gates. 

Then they walked right through, and his spell turned to him.

“Exactly,” his spell said, sounding triumphant.

Draco knew it was nonsense, but what it did mean was that he had managed to set his magical boundaries even wider than he had known. Or intended.

“I am damn good,” he said, proud. “But you are so clearly not real.”

“Yes I _am_!” his spell said, sounding furious, and he pulled Draco into his chest and, with a twirl, Apparated them into a quiet lane that Draco thought might be a few miles from his home.

“I… is this possible?” Draco murmured out loud. “Perhaps I am… far better at this than I thought?” Fear was beginning to creep up the back of Draco’s neck into his hairline.

His spell rolled his eyes and dropped a Disillusionment charm on his own and then Draco’s head. They both went mostly translucent and Draco swallowed hard.

He had never, not once, so much as considered a need for his spells to be able to cast non-sexual spells.

Before he could bring this up, or even think about it much, Draco found himself sucked through space again. They appeared behind Saint Michael's Parish Church, in the centre of Myddfai.

“Do you believe me yet?” Draco heard. Then he collapsed, senseless and terrified.

xXx

Draco awakened in a chair in his front parlour, Bowse and, Merlin help him, _Harry Potter_ hovering nearby nervously.

“You _are_ real,” Draco whispered. He pressed back into the corner of the chair. 

“You finally believe me?”

“I do not see how I can, and yet, I think I might have to?” He swallowed. This was a lot more drama than he had expected when he had awakened this morning.

“So that was you? The real you? The whole time?” Draco could hardly believe it himself.

Harry frowned. “No, I don’t think it was always the real me,” Harry was clearly discomfited. “I think you said ‘we’ had fucked Snape together?”

Draco nodded. 

“Then you did make a fake me, because I definitely never did _that_.” Now he looked horrified.

“But I mean,” Draco shook his head, hoping to clear it. That was not what he really needed to understand. “I snapped my fingers at you? I ordered you around? I made demands, I made you suck my cock? I tied you to my bed and rode your cock, and you, that was _the real you_? The hero? The golden saviour? And you just… _let me_? You just… took it?”

“Draco, I’m not who you always thought I was.”

“Well, _obviously_.”

Harry stared at him. Then he giggled.


	8. Let Us Explore My Lands

As soon as Draco finished spreading out the picnic blanket, Harry flopped down onto it, resting on his back. He reached for Draco, who slipped his shoes off, slowly, and then crawled near to Harry.

Harry, however, was clearly not satisfied with “near.” He rolled over once and pulled Draco into his arms. “Did you realize,” he said quietly into Draco’s ear, as he pushed a hand into Draco’s hair and began to gently scratch Draco’s scalp; “tonight is beltane?”

Draco looked at him without turning his head. He did not wish to make his massive crush any more obvious. Also, it had been months since anyone had scratched his head, and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. “I had completely lost track of the days. Is it really?”

“Yeah…” Harry sounded a little… coy? “I suppose I don’t have to worry about celebrating properly anymore, now, do I?”

Now Draco did turn his head to look into Harry’s eyes. “Are you saying that you would like to scamper into the woodline with me, Harry?”

“I think we already did, didn’t we?”

Draco kissed him, still amazed that he could.

xXx

Draco Malfoy had – in all honesty – never expected to find himself out on his lands with a sturdy blanket, very little clothing left on his body, a nearly empty bottle of dessert wine, an abandoned basket of fruit, his favourite lube, and a randy Harry Potter. He kept telling himself he simply needed to learn to roll with the waves.

Especially if it meant Harry Potter was going to keep looking at him like _that_.

“Cor, look at those abs,” Harry sighed. He stroked the skin of Draco’s stomach as Draco tried to remember to breathe. “You know, I thought you were working out for me,” Harry said, pouting a little. “But now I realize you can’t have been.”

“I was working out for me, actually,” Draco said, stunned that Harry had noticed.

“Oh, well, that’s all right then. As long as it wasn’t for some other bloke.”

Draco shook his head in wonder. “So you want to be… exclusive?” He swallowed once, trying to cover his astonishment at the words he had just spoken. Him. To Potter. _The real one._

“Had I not made that clear yet?” Harry frowned and pulled himself up on one elbow to better look into Draco’s face. “I thought I’d been pretty obvious, when I shouted something about you cheating.”

Draco felt himself blanch. “You don’t really think I was cheating on you, do you?” He barely managed the words, and Harry could obviously tell, because his face softened and he kissed Draco once, very sweetly.

“I don’t think you were actually cheating those times, no. You had no idea I had actually come to your house! Let alone…” his eyes grew heated for a moment, and Draco felt his pulse pick up as they remembered together. 

“But now, I, yes. I don’t want you… doing that. Any more.” Harry frowned a little, and broke eye contact.

Draco reached up and caressed Harry’s cheek, astonished that it was he who had upset Harry in this way, and that it was he who could make it better. “I promise,” he said, soft and sincere. “I promise not to have sex with anyone else, not even my holodeck characters. For as long as we are… going out?” 

His uncertainty was probably in his eyes, because Harry nodded at him, firmly. 

“I suppose we are going out together,” Draco said. “Good Merlin.”

Harry laughed, but his face showed clear relief. “Yes, we are. I want to be your boyfriend. I thought I already was, frankly. But I should have said something. Anyway, er, yeah.” Harry looked relieved, and he flopped back down onto the blanket.

Draco had expected Harry to continue babbling on, but he did not immediately say anything, and so Draco was able to take a moment to consider his sudden change of fortune and circumstance. 

“I know Mum is trying to insist, but I think I might not want a job at the Ministry,” he confessed, wondering how Harry would take this change of topic. And of expectation.

He need not have worried.

“Definitely don’t,” Harry said, quite firmly. “It’s a horrible place to work.”

Now Draco rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “Really?” he asked, simply.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Harry said, with fervour. “ _Yes_. I hate it there. I’m just a fucking Auror trainee, and I can already tell the place is all rules over reality, names over character, how things appear in the newspaper over actually, you know, _doing the right fucking thing_. Those people all treat me like some sort of figurehead, even though I’m still eighteen and I didn’t even finish school. They’d treat you like a traitor and equate you with your Dad.” 

Draco shivered. That sounded abysmal. And very plausible, too. But how was he ever going to get Mother off his back?

“I think you should start a business of making wizard holodecks in magical homes,” Harry said, as though he could read Draco’s mind. He reached for an apple. “Everyone wants a butler, don’t you think? Even people who have an ethical problem with using house-elves could buy a butler from you.”

Draco let his raised eyebrow say at least half of it for him. “A butler that will fuck them on command, you mean?”

“Hush, you. Suck my cock.”

“You think you deserve another orgasm?” Draco teased, running a finger down Harry’s chest, avoiding his stiffy in order to trail his fingertip back up again.

“You know I do,” Harry said, and he bounced up and over, to crouch over Draco’s body. He blocked the sun, and Draco found he did not mind at all.

“After all,” Harry said, quietly, “I’m the one who just came up with the brilliant idea for how you get a job with no Ministry, and no boss to order you around.”

“What if I want someone to… _tell me what to do_?” Draco said, looking up at Harry through lowered eyelashes.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry groaned, taking Draco’s mouth with his own.

They did not discuss potential careers again for quite a few lovely, long minutes.

xXx

“I am _so_ getting David Hennage fired,” Harry told Draco, nuzzling Draco’s neck as their sweat cooled from their second romp on the picnic blanket.

“Spoilsport!” Draco laughed at him.

Harry pulled his face away and looked at him. “What, you want some other pure-blood to construct a holodeck and compete with your new business? Besides, I hate Auror school, and this way I can apply for the job.”

“You want to work at Hogwarts?” Draco said, surprised.

“Minerva would be a way better boss than Dawlish,” Harry whined, and Draco could not resist tickling him.

xXx

As the velvet night deepened, the space between the two of them decreased, until, by morning, neither could imagine parting.  
…  
Not even for a shower, but they did take one together, because after a night in the woods, they both felt rather ripe.

_Fin_


End file.
